


here is the root of the root (and the bud of the bud)

by stardusting



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Discussion of Death, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pining Noctis, Vomiting, he's so in love it's ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardusting/pseuds/stardusting
Summary: Noctis loves so strongly that flowers take root in his lungs and the petals fall from his lips. Though these blooms will clog his throat and leave him breathless, this is a love he refuses to part with.





	1. i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Jordan because we waxed poetic about this au for hours and then I had to make it happen because noct is a disaster gay and promptis is real.
> 
> title from e.e. cummings's poem i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
> 
>  **TRACK LIST** (bc i listened to a lot of sad songs while writing this)  
>  bloom - the paper kites  
> angels - the xx  
> love like this (acoustic) - kodaline  
> light - sleeping at last

 

It starts the spring after they’ve graduated high school.

Noctis has more duties to attend now that he has the free time, and Prompto is thinking about enrolling in the community college. They’ve somehow grown older in these short few months and busier because of it. But at least they haven’t grown any further apart, still making time for each other in the spaces where they can both fit and act as young as they’d like to be.

They’re sitting on the roof of Noctis’s apartment complex, waiting for a meteor shower that’s scheduled to happen at any second. Prompto has the camera Noctis gifted him as graduation present held reverently in his hands, gaze pointed towards the skyline, starlight reflected in the lavender blue of his eyes.

It’s a nice night out, the air warm enough to be comfortable, an occasional breeze drifting between them keeps it cool. What Noctis likes best are the quiet moments similar to these, the ones where it feels as if they’re the only two people left in the universe with a city spread under them.

“When do you think it’ll start?” Prompto lowers his camera and asks, the small downturn of his lips makes it more of a pout than a frown. He’s been excited about this for weeks.

“Soon,” Noctis says, and can’t help the slant of a smile that makes its way on his face. He feels something small bloom in his chest and tickle the back of his throat. “eyes up though, you might miss it.”

Prompto doesn’t miss it because he never misses a good shot when he really aims for it. The sky is alight with falling stars, tails of light tracing the inky black expand. Noctis is relieved Prompto is so enraptured by what’s happening above him that the sudden cough that wracks Noctis’s frame goes unnoticed and neither does he notice the bright red petal that drifts to the ground between them.   

 

**-**

 

Noctis doesn’t stop coughing, and the petals don’t stop falling into the cup of his palm at odd times of the day. Usually, it’s just one or two that he can brush off to the side and forget about. Sometimes he wakes up coughing after hazy warm dreams, and there’ll be a pile of carmine colored petals standing out starkly against the black of his sheets. He shoves everything into the trash to forget that this is happening to him.

He doesn’t tell anyone about it, figures it’ll go away because all coughs do at some point. The flower petals that come with it must be a side effect of his magic flaring up and doing something weird to his body. Noctis is a prince destined to be king after all, and if he can’t handle himself when he just a little sick, then he obviously isn’t fit to one day run the country.

That doesn’t mean people don’t shoot him concerned looks when they think he isn’t watching. Ignis leaves cough medicine in the cabinet, and Gladio cuts training short on days when it’s particularly bad. The worst comes with Prompto because Prompto is obvious with all his emotions. The concerned looks he sends Noctis make him feel bad for causing best friend undue worry.

There’s enough on Prompto’s plate to worry about after all, with a job and possibly going to college and his dream career as a photographer. Noctis doesn’t want to take away from that, so he brushes off questions and keeps his answers vague.

It’s better this way. It’s not like what’s happening to him is serious.

 

**-**

 

“You’ve been pretty sick lately,” Prompto says one day in a tone of voice that Noctis has learned to mean he’s nervous about bringing something up. It’s a feigning of a nonchalant tone, a twinge of nerves mixed in with his words.

They’re on opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled in the middle, portable consoles obscuring their faces. If this is a topic Prompto is nervous about mentioning, then it’s definitely a topic Noctis doesn’t want to breach, especially when he’s comfortable and not thinking of much of anything.  

“It’s just a cough,” he answers, more focused on catching new fishes to add to his town’s aquarium. “Specs gave me some cough medicine. It’s gross as hell, but it helps. I guess.” It doesn’t, but Prompto doesn’t need to know that, and neither does Ignis for that matter.

Prompto hums a sound that doesn’t seem convinced with the answer, a barely heard noise over the music of a Pokémon battle. He doesn’t say anything else though, and for that Noctis is glad, still convinced that Prompto has too much of his own stuff to worry about.

Noctis enjoys these comfortable silences he’s built up with Prompto over the years, how at ease they are in each other’s presence by now. They can each do their own thing, but as long as they’re in the same room, Noctis is content, comfortably at peace with Prompto in the vicinity.

It’s a little sappy, he guesses, to think of a best friend in such an intimate way. In such a domestic setting, rather. But seeing Prompto always feels a bit like coming home, more so than the apartment does and even more so than the Citadel.

That’s what he gets for falling in love.

And, _ah,_ that’s what it is, isn’t it? Love? It’s not too bad, Noctis thinks as he pulls a sea butterfly out of the ocean. If being around Prompto makes him feel warm and hazy and relaxed in the same way he gets after a nap on a warm summer’s day, then he can live with it.

He can live with it, even if it means keeping these feelings held close to his chest because they’re selfish feelings, warm but selfish. Because, as much as he loves Prompto, he also loves him enough not to keep him tied down to Insomnia, not to keep Prompto tied down to him. He realized at least that much the first year into their friendship.

Prompto has the freedom to choose, and Noctis will let him keep that.

 

**-**

 

Prompto doesn’t stick around that night, having an early shift at work the next morning. It’s understandable, he has his own life to live.

As soon as Noctis closes the door behind his friend, he starts to miss him seconds after he’s gone. That makes things worse suddenly, this feeling of a certain type of longing. There’s a sudden pressure burning his lungs and smothering his throat, making it impossible to breathe. But he tries anyway, and all that comes out is a ragged cough.

Once the coughing starts, he can’t stop. Each one wracks his body, shakes his shoulders, and causes tears to blur in the corners of his eyes. Noctis doubles over from the pain burning his chest, each desperate gasp for breath turning into just another throat tearing cough.

From his mouth is an outpouring of red petals, a parody of blood slipping between his fingers and onto the floor to scatter at his feet. The smell of them clog his nose, make it even harder to breathe.

When the petals stop falling, maybe seconds or minutes or hours after he first started, Noctis still can’t take in a proper breath, feeling something else clogging his throat, the perfect size to be just barely suffocating.

He takes a few stilted breaths through his nose before sticking two fingers in his mouth. It’s uncomfortable and gross, and reflexively, he gags around them, not yet throwing up at least. His fingertips do brush against something foreign for his efforts, so at least it isn’t imaginary.

Getting a grip to remove whatever it is takes a few tries, but when he finally does, Noctis greedily takes in a proper lungful of air or six until his body stops shaking and his lungs relearn the art of breathing.

What’s resting in his palm, what was obscuring his airway, is the blossom of a dark red color, all its petals unfurled into a glorious bloom slick with his saliva.

 

**-**

 

Noctis calls Ignis because he doesn’t know who else to talk to in this moment; he doesn’t bother hiding the mess on his floor since he relays everything on the phone. By the end of the call, Ignis promises to get there as soon as possible. The relief of it causes Noctis to fall back on the couch, tired and more frightened about what’s happening to him than he’d readily admit.

He’s tired in a way that reminds him of the state his body goes into when he overuses his magic or when his old injury flares up on a cold day. He feels weak and slow and everything hurts. He just wants to nap and forget this ever happened, hoping it’s a onetime thing, hoping it can get fixed sooner rather than later.

“Noct,” the sound of Ignis’s voice and of the door to the apartment shutting breaks through his just barely asleep state.

Noctis watches as Ignis crosses the threshold to make his way over to the couch. He passes a quick glance to the petals still scattered on the floor, a confirmation of the condition Noctis spoke of over the phone.

Ignis crouches on the floor next to the couch; removing his glove, he places a hand on Noctis’s cheek and then forehead, something he hasn’t done since the last time Noctis was twelve and sick with a fever. It’s a comfort which he instinctually leans into, a testament to how tired he must be.

“You don’t have a fever,” Ignis says. Rather, Noctis looks pale in a way that’s concerning, “but you don’t look very good either. How are you feeling?”

Noctis lets out a sigh that leaves him coughing into the curve of his palm. When he’s done, there’s a handful of red petals he shakes away, irritation flaring harshly, at what, he doesn’t know.

“I’m tired, Specs,” he finally answers. “I’ve been coughing up petals for weeks and now it’s starting to hurt to breathe.

“You said you coughed up an actual bloom this time. May I see it?”

He complies, uncurling his other hand to reveal the crushed and slightly wilted blossom. “I don’t know what kind of flower it even is.”

“It’s a camellia,” Ignis answers, slipping his glove back on. “however, Gladio can tell you more about them than I can. I’ll be taking you to the Citadel to see if the doctors can figure out what’s ailing you.”

Noctis doesn’t actually want to go, having always hated seeing the doctors since after the marilith attack, but it’s a necessity now, so he nods and lets it happen.

 

**-**

 

It’s not the doctors that tell him what’s wrong. They take x-rays of his chest and lungs and see that there are flowers that have taken root and are growing as if they’re a natural part of him, but they can’t tell him the cause of it. Only that it’s making his lungs unable to properly function, something he could have confirmed without all the tests.

They scratch their heads and tap their pens to their clipboards and tell the king of his son’s condition.

And it is the king who has the answer.

In the privacy of Noctis’s room, with Gladio and Ignis and Clarus seated near the two royals, Regis tells them what’s ailing his son.

“It’s one of the many effects of the Crystal’s magic,” Regis begins, his tone solemn, more father than king, “it tends to skip a few generations in some cases, but it has shown up enough in the royal line to be recorded and monitored.”

“So, what is it?” Noctis questions, impatient for an answer.

“They dub it hanahaki and label it as a disease. Flowers take root in the lungs and they continue to grow until the one affected dies of suffocation. The flower is different for each person and sometimes there may be more than one kind, but the end result is still the same.”

“Is there no cure, Your Majesty?” that’s Ignis’s voice, tight with worry and apprehension. The atmosphere of the room is suddenly heavy.

Regis sighs, looking older than he actually is. There’s nothing comfortable about facing the fact that his son is so close to death a second time in the short nineteen years of his life. “Noct is at the stage where recovery is possible through surgery, yes. But I should tell you what causes it.”

“I was fine a few weeks ago,” Noctis interjects, a frown on his face, “it just came out of nowhere and is only getting worse.” He can’t even begin to think of what may cause flowers to bloom in his lungs. It’s an absurd thought.

“It doesn’t necessarily come out of nowhere,” Regis smiles, looking an odd mixture of proud and saddened, “it’s a disease born from a one-sided love. A love so great that it can physically manifests itself with the help of magic.”

Noctis feels his face flush automatically, cheeks and ears burning in quick succession. He goes to speak but he coughs instead, a shower of red petals against his dark sheets. Now that he knows the cause of all this happening, it isn’t as bad to think about. A bit embarrassing because he didn’t want anyone to know about his feelings, but circumstances have changed.

It’s actually a bit touching to know his love is strong enough to have this happen to him, though he can already tell the others aren’t as pleased as him.

“What’ll taking the flowers out do?” Noctis asks once he can speak and Ignis has brushed the petals off his bed and into the trash.

His father rests a gentle hand on Noctis’s knee before saying, “It will remove all feelings of love you have towards this person. Memories may change as an effect of this also. There is a chance you may forget them entirely.”

“I’m not doing that,” Noctis says automatically, gaze going from surprised to stubborn in a matter of seconds. He shakes his head, resolute in his decision. He doesn’t need to think on it, “That’s not an option.”

“Noctis, it will be the only option at this rate. The effects of this will kill you.”

The thing is, the thing is that fixing it will make him forget Prompto, make him forget the love he’s just grown to realize and accept as part of himself. He doesn’t know when these feelings started, but he doesn’t mind them, not at all. They’re the best thing to ever happen to him in a long time; Prompto is the best thing to ever happen to him in his entire life. He doesn’t want to imagine a life without him. It’s a lot scarier to think about than dying because he’s so in love.

Noctis curls hands on his sheets and holds his father’s gaze (he looks so sad, so sad, and so weary) as he firmly states, “Then let it.”

Because Noctis is stubborn and in love, and nothing can change that. If this love will be the death of him, then so be it.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank y'all so much for reading!!! the second part will have a lot more prompto in it and i already have that planned out. hopefully i can get it written and out for you guys within the next few days. but who knows, work is a thing a i'm definitely doing now. i just really liked the buildup i had here so i split it
> 
> if you wanna talk promptis with me or whatever, i'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sugarpunched)


	2. here is the deepest secret nobody knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRACK LIST**  
>  the loved ones - sanders bohlke  
> oceans - seafret  
> moondust - jaymes young  
> one last time - jaymes young

**Prompto (4 days ago):** how u feeling buddy? still sick???  
**Prompto (4 days ago):** havent seen you in a few days  
**Prompto (4 days ago):** i can come over and we can play smth or watch a movie  
**Prompto (4 days ago):** if youre feeling up to it anyway  
**Prompto (4 days ago):** i got tomorrow off and i know how bored you get when ur sick  
**Prompto (4 days ago)** : lemme know and we can make an entire day of it

 **Prompto (3 days ago):** noct???  
**Prompto (3 days ago):** u never answered must be still pretty out of it  
**Prompto (3 days ago):** id offer to bring stuff over but im sure iggy has it covered  
**Prompto (3 days ago):** dont know exactly what you have besides that bad cough  
**Prompto (3 days ago):** youre still not contagious right????  
**Prompto (3 days ago):** im gonna swing by real quick since it’s been a few days since i last saw you  
**Prompto (3 days ago):** gotta see for myself how youre doing  
**Prompto (3 days ago):** iggy has classes today doesnt he???  
**Prompto (3 days ago):** he probs wouldnt mind someone checking in on you  
**Prompto (3 days ago):** see u soon

 **Prompto (2 days ago):** u didnt tell me you went home  
**Prompto (2 days ago):** iggy told me u got worse so he drove you there a few days ago  
**Prompto (2 days ago):** that explains the lack of replies but it’s nbd if youre that sick  
**Prompto (2 days ago):** theyll fix you up there u got like royal doctors  
**Prompto (2 days ago):** uve never been sick for real long dealing w/ them  
**Prompto (2 days ago):** hope you get better soon!!  
**Prompto (2 days ago):** there’s been an update to kings knight we still gotta play  
**Prompto (2 days ago):** i’ll wait until youre better before touching it!!!

 **Prompto (1 day ago):** i asked iggy and gladio how you were  
**Prompto (1 day ago):** theyve been super vague about it  
**Prompto (1 day ago):** gladio was pretty grumpy about it too  
**Prompto (1 day ago):** are you okay???  
**Prompto (1 day ago):** let me know soon  
**Prompto (1 day ago):** im worried

 **Prompto (5:23 am):** i miss you  
**Prompto (5:24 am):** get better soon

_Delete messages?  
Yes     >No_

 

-

 

Noctis has been holed up in the Citadel since he made his final decision. The doctors monitor his lungs, rattle off numbers and how much have slowly been taken over during each night. Sometimes it’s nothing, sometimes the flowers stay at bay for a day or two and sometimes they flare up suddenly. Seemingly unbidden, but that's never the case. Noctis has noticed he gets worse on the days he thinks particularly hard about Prompto: how much he misses him, how he’s purposefully ignoring the all the texts, how he knows he _can’t have_ Prompto no matter how much he aches for it.

It’s the thing that’s killing him after all, the keen sense of longing, yet knowing it’s inevitably doomed to fail in some way.

There may have been freedom in his life, more freedom than a prince probably should be given, but Noctis knew that it would end at some point. It happened slowly, the council needing more time from him after high school ended. His presence became more imperative at meetings. He was constantly reminded that he would be King, and a king is expected to put nothing before crown and country.

Noctis is selfish though in the fact that he wants Prompto above all that, above everything else in the entire world. He knows that’s what the people watching him fade away must be thinking. How can a prince, not yet twenty, so readily give his life for one person? How can he betray his country, his lineage in such a way, with no regard for the fact that he’s the only heir? He can’t help that he loves with his whole heart, that he’d rather die than forget anything about Prompto because that’s someone so intricately tied to his life it’s impossible to imagine it without him now that he’s settled himself in a place right next to Noctis’s own heart.

Besides, Noctis thinks he might have had a crush on Prompto always, since the time they almost met that Prompto likes to pretend never happened for some reason. Noctis is glad to play the fool in that regard, but he won’t ignore these feelings that he’s finally grown to realize, the ones that have made a home his lungs and suffocate him so.

Gladio tells him that camellias mean _to be in love_ but also _to perish with grace._ Noctis doesn’t think he minds. He doesn’t mind at all.

 

-

 

“How are you feeling, Noct?” his father asks from the seat next to the bedside that he always chooses to sit in.

If there’s one thing good that came out if this, it’s the fact that his dad visits him more. Every day for as long as he’s able, even if it’s a short few minutes. It’d be better if Noctis wasn’t on his death bed, though he doesn’t think he wants to die at the Citadel for as much as it has been his home for the first fifteen years of his life. But those are thoughts for later.

“I’m fine.” As fine as he can be in this situation that is, which isn’t saying much at all. “No worse, no better.”

His father nods, solemn. “I understand the feeling.” It’s a bit sad that this how they relate. Through the fact that they’re both dying because of the Crystal’s magic, through the fact that their conditions aren’t getting better because this is their fate.

“Specs has been making me drink tea. It’s not great, but it helps my throat not feel as bad and my chest doesn’t hurt as much.”

“That’s good to hear. Ignis has always been a capable young man. He must be glad to be aiding you in some way.” There’s a small pause, a moment of consideration before his father adds, “And what of young Gladiolus?”

Noctis shrugs, suddenly weary just thinking about the strain in the relationship between him and his Shield. If there’s someone adamantly against his decision, it’s Gladio. Well, someone who doesn’t hide the fact that they’re against it, at least. Noctis doesn’t know if he appreciates the transparency or dislikes it because Gladio is bad with his grief, Noctis is coming to realize. There’s stilted silences between them and comments that hurt more than help. Gladio was always the one reminding Noctis that he would one day be king ever since they first met and Noctis could barely hold a practice sword correctly. Look how far they’ve come, all that time poured into his rule for nothing.

He understands why Gladio must hate him.

“He and Specs argue a lot, about me, I think.” Noctis says instead, directing the conversation to a different relationship rather than his own.

“They are very different people,” Regis adds like he’s saying he understands why they are arguing, and maybe he does. “I’m sure they have differing opinions on what’s going on.”

They do, Noctis had heard them arguing about during one of his dazed states after a particularly bad coughing fit that ending up with him vomiting the only bit of lunch he could force down, and he needed a nap to right himself. They argued, voices tired and nerves stretched thin, about how Noctis is handling the situation. Gladio thinks he’s selfish for not having the surgery, and Ignis respects the decision as much as he can. At the base it’s the same though, they don’t want Noctis to die, but they’ve been trained to protect him from others, not from himself. Not from the emotions he feels in his heart. They must feel useless, and Noctis feels bad for making them feel that way.

Noctis sighs, the breath scrapes against the rawness of his throat, makes him cough a little, but no petal falls in the palm of his hand. Today is a day that people can pretend Noctis isn’t dying of lovesickness, but it’s hard to do when the perfume of flowers clings so closely nowadays.

“I wish they wouldn’t argue though. I wish they would – ” Noctis cuts himself off, but the intent of his words hang heavy in the air. It’s not like he’s going to live for much longer. They shouldn’t fight over the inevitable. This is a decision Noctis had made himself; no one can take the blame for it. He hopes no one will blame themselves for it. “It’d be nice if they could get along.” He decides to say.

“Give them time. They are processing at a pace befitting them best. Though I understand not wanting to see your friends argue and how tough it can be being stuck in the middle. Give them time though, you’ll see.”

 _Do I have time?_ Noctis doesn’t asks, leaves the question in the back of his mind against all the things he’ll think but never have the courage to say. “You sound like you speak from experience.”

Regis smiles, there’s a certain light in his eyes that Noctis hasn’t seen lately. “All I will say is that Clarus and Cor were very different thirty years ago.”

Noctis feels himself brighten. There’s a story behind that he wants to hear. He wants to know all he can about his father in the little time that they have left together. So, he asks, and latches onto every word of the story being crafted and feels lighter for it.

Like this, they can pretend he isn’t doomed to die.

 

-

 

When nearly sixty percent of his lungs get compromised by the flowers threading through them, Noctis’s condition worsens to the point where surgery is no longer an option. The night after they tell him, he coughs up full flowers. The stems of them scraping harshly against his throat, blood mixed with saliva coating the petals; a reminder that this magic is cruel.  

There isn’t much anything anyone can do, but at least Ignis is there, hands rubbing soothing circles as Noctis spends the better part of an hour coughing a bouquet in the trash. It’s comforting knowing at least someone is willing to deal with him in his worse state, though embarrassing for someone to see him in a state so terrible.

“I wanna go back to my apartment.” Noctis finds the strength to say despite how his throat burns. He can taste blood coating his tongue and the back of his teeth. He doesn’t want to die like this, he thinks suddenly, furiously, but it’s a feeling quickly smothered because there’s no other way now.

Ignis sighs a barely-there sound. “I’ll make arrangements, make sure your apartment is cleaned up before you head back. Though I must say, the Citadel may be able to provide you better comforts.”

Noctis shrugs and leaves it at that, not having the strength to articulate why he wants to go back to his apartment rather than stay here. The Citadel represents too much he doesn’t want, too much he never wanted and never asked for. He doesn’t want to die as a prince with the ghosts of his forefathers bearing down on his back, judging him for the fact that he chose love over a kingdom, that he’s probably doomed the line this way. He wants to back to his apartment where he lived the illusion of a normal life just for a few years. It’s the place where Prompto has made a home for himself as well, as much as he denies it out of embarrassment. Noctis wouldn’t have minded if Prompto wanted to move in with him.

Maybe he can arrange for Prompto to have the apartment after he’s gone. It won’t fix anything, but it’s the least he can do since Prompto was the one to make that place truly a home.

 

-

 

“Prompto came over while you were at the Citadel.” Ignis says, pretending as if Noctis doesn’t already know this.

It’s an okay day amid worse ones. Noctis spends it lucid enough and not as tired as he could be curled up on the couch sipping broth out of a thermos and tea out of a cup. He hasn’t been able to have solids for a while now with his throat raw as it is and the fact that all his coughing reflexively causes his stomach to rebel most foods. He misses fries, but he thinks what he really misses the most is the thrill of sneaking out late at night with Prompto just to go to a twenty-four-hour diner, both of them alone during Insomnia’s night.  

Noctis hums to indicate that he’s listening. He has no choice really since all he’s been doing lately is sitting on the couch and trying to pay off his debt on Animal Crossing and make his village look nice even though it won’t matter.

“You haven’t spoken to Prompto recently, have you?”

“I’ve been sick,” he says probably a little too defensively. He can tell what Ignis wants from him. He doesn’t think he’s ready for it, doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready for it. “I’m not exactly prime for friendly conversation.”

“Prompto is your best friend, Noct. He deserves to know at least some of what’s going on if you’re not comfortable with telling him the entire truth.”

The thing about Prompto is that he deserves a lot more than what Noctis can give him; what Noctis would be able to give him, that is. One of the last things Prompto needs to worry about is Noctis’s failing health and the very last thing he needs to know is that Noctis is dying because he’s so in love with him. Prompto would wear that guilt for the rest of his life, and Noctis doesn’t want to leave with him with that strong of a burden.

“You don’t have to tell him everything.” Ignis stresses like he knows the thoughts plaguing Noctis’s mind. Maybe he does, he’s always been good at reading people, particularly Noctis since that is part of his job to some degree. “Just don’t let this catch him unaware.”

Noctis considers this because Ignis is right, for he is rarely wrong. It’s one of the things Prompto doesn’t deserve, to be struck with his death so suddenly without proper warning or time to process. Though Noctis doesn’t want to think about this, his death is coming sooner rather than later, he owes it to Prompto to give him a proper chance to say goodbye even if Noctis will prefer to leave certain things unsaid.

“I’ll think about it.” He replies, even though he’s going to go along with it. He just needs to think about how to go about it exactly because words were never his strong suit. “I’m going to take a nap though.” Adds Noctis, weary suddenly as he saves his game and stands from his place on the couch.

Naps can’t fix everything, but they help at least.

 

-

 

 **Noctis (7:34 pm):** do you wanna come over tomorrow

 **Prompto (7:34 pm):** yeah!!!  
**Prompto (7:34 pm):** i have work but after!!  
**Prompto (7:35 pm):** are you feeling better??

 **Noctis (7:37 pm):** been better  
**Noctis (7:37 pm):** after work is fine tho  
**Noctis (7:38 pm):** see you then

 

-

 

The day Prompto comes over it starts raining, a gentle summer shower that makes the air warm and humid. This is the type of day that Noctis would spend napping, lulled to sleep by the pattering of rain against the windows. He hasn’t been resting well recently though, chest aches and coughing fits make sleep an elusive creature. He wishes he could curl up and sleep comfortably and not think about how this is last time he’ll speak to Prompto face to face.

Though it’s raining and the sky is darkened, Prompto brings sunshine with his smile and his eyes are bright like the morning sky. He’s excited to see Noctis, that much is easy to tell, and Noctis feels the love bloom so furiously it makes his chest ache. It’s a wonder he doesn’t cough a pile of flowers at this very moment for all his feelings to be exposed.

“No offense, but you look rough, Noct.” Prompto says once they’re settled on the couch. There’s sympathy in his eyes as he takes in Noctis’s appearance.

Noctis knows he looks rough, having mustered the bare minimum amount of effort into his appearance just for Prompto so it’d be hard to tell just how bad he’s doing. Lack of sleep has left bags under his eyes and lack of care has left his hair without its usual style for the past couple of weeks. Down like this, it’s easy to tell his hair is getting longer with the way it curls around his ears and brushes the back of his neck. But wearing his most comfortable sweater and lounge pants, Noctis doesn’t care. Prompto has seen him worse in less distressing situations, disheveled after a night’s sleep with hair sticking up everywhere and drool on his chin.

“I feel rough.” Noctis admits and takes a sip of the broth Ignis forced into his hands right before he left. His admission is a bit of an understatement, but Prompto doesn’t need to know that.

Prompto knocks their shoulders together, a friendly and habitual gesture, but he doesn’t make a move to return the distance between them. “You’ll be fine though, right? The doctors know what they’re doing, and you’ll be back to yourself in no time.”

 _No, I won’t,_ is what Noctis doesn’t say and instead adjusts himself to properly take on Prompto’s weight and says, “So about that King’s Knight update.”

So, they play games and enjoy each other’s company like nothing is wrong. At least Noctis pretends nothing is wrong while he laughs and enjoys Prompto’s presence for the final time. They spend hours like this curled against each other on the couch and trading jokes and stories until the sky has darkened and the rain still hasn’t let up.

It’s good and it’s going great until something can’t be ignored anymore.

It starts with Prompto because of course it does; he’s the one left in the dark, too many questions that don’t have answers. There’s a lull in the gameplay, the sound of the main menu theme playing against the music of rain when he asks, “So, what are you sick with?”

“A chest thing,” Noctis says automatically, a lie already thought out in advanced. “it’s not contagious though.”

Prompto looks like he doesn’t believe him, and Noctis doesn’t blame him. The excuse is a flimsy one at best now, even if it is half the truth. “A chest thing? Did they not tell you?”

“They did, but it’s not it’s important what it is exactly.”

“Uhm, buddy, you’ve been sick for weeks and you haven’t been getting better. It seems important to know what’s going on. Iggy and Gladio won’t tell me when I ask, so I’m thinking it’s a privacy thing.” He presses a hand gently against Noctis’s arm, a touch that warms and burns in equal measure. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Noctis knows because he has told Prompto things he would never dream of telling other people. Like how he dislikes his position as a prince, how he hates that his father is often too busy for them to really do stuff together, how he hates the Crystal for chipping away at his father’s life, how he sometimes still has nightmares about the marilith attack. He has bared his soul to Prompto twice over by now, but this, this is not something he can share. It’s much too late now.

“I know,” he admits, shifting away enough that Prompto's hand drops from his arm. Noctis ignores the hurt look on his friend’s face and goes on, “but really, don’t worry about it.”

Prompto still unconvinced, still determined, continues. “I’m gonna worry regardless especially since you haven’t been replying to my messages and suddenly want to talk. Not that I really mind since you’ve been sick. You can’t just pull that and not expect me to worry.”

Noctis, suddenly tired, wants Prompto to stop questioning him. He isn’t deserving of all this worry and concerned glances. It’s the last thing he needs, the last thing they both need, for this goodbye to be harder than it should.

“I needed space.” He says, emotions making the words come out a bit too defensively, a bit too harshly if the way Prompto flinches a little has anything to say about it. It makes Noctis feel worse. He can’t look Prompto in the eyes.

Prompto sighs, it sounds as weary as Noctis feels. “Okay, you got your space. Now that I’m here, will you tell me what’s going on?”

He shakes his head and adds, “Why do you even want to know?”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say because when Prompto speaks, his words are starting to crack around the edges, his tone wavers. Noctis can tell any confidence he has is starting to wane. “Because you’re my best friend. Can’t I worry about you?”

Noctis thinks dimly, that they might be fighting or a close cousin to it. It doesn’t happen often, them disagreeing about something to this intensity. He hates that this is happening now, but he can’t help that his feelings are too much to articulate properly. He can’t tell Prompto the truth and tie him down further than he already has.

“It’s,” Noctis starts but needs to stop. He feels pressure behind his eyes and an emotion clawing its way up his throat that he has to tamp down. Being around Prompto is easy as breathing, but talking to him is _hard_ in this moment with so many feelings swirling around in his head and his chest. “It’s not like it matters because you can’t do anything about it anyway. You have your own life to worry about, Prompto. Stick with that.”

The silence after he speaks those words hangs heavy in the air, the atmosphere suddenly choking. It’s true though, Prompto should worry about his own life and not concern himself with Noctis and all that’s going on with him. It’s not like it’ll matter in a couple week's time. He’s just waiting for the inevitable. Prompto shouldn’t have to wait with him.

The heavy lull is broken by movement, Prompto moving specifically. Noctis watches as his friend gets up from the couch and gathers his things in silence, face shadowed by the fall of his blond hair. His movements are hasty and awkward, Noctis thinks he sees a slight tremble to Prompto’s fingers, and he feels his heart drop somewhere next to his stomach.

“I gotta go.” Prompto finally says, his voice quiet and empty. He smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes like it would normally.

In this moment, Noctis wants nothing more than to have Prompto stay. But he doesn’t know what to say because Prompto wants answers and Noctis is too afraid to give them. So, he watches his friend leave out his apartment for the final time.

Prompto leaves behind an empty space and an aching hole in Noctis’s chest that he can’t blame on anyone but himself.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things happened and as you can see (if youre a returning reader) that i added another chapter bc i decided to attack noct's terrible communication skills with a stick bc i decided to make this terribly character focused and i love noct with all my heart. plus this ended up getting longer than i expected while i was in the middle of writing it and the last thing i want to have everyone deal with is a rushed ending because the resolution of this is very important. so sorry you have to deal with more angst and no comfort but next chapter i swear!!! there's a happy ending i promise!!!!
> 
> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sugarpunched)


	3. i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we did it folks!!! i can't believe i finished something!! thank you all for the love and support you've shown. i'm literally touched and im crying so hard. posting this at 1am like i do most things bc im terrible and ive read through everything like 3 times but i'll fix any mistakes later hopefully they arent ugly
> 
>  **TRACKS LIST**  
>  need the sun to break - james bay  
> breathe me - sia  
> only love - ben howard  
> how long will i love you - ellie gouldin  
> (listen to the entire playlist for this gay mess of a fic [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/seylum/playlist/0dZThwMAm0aSLnBBoaJMjq/))

It’s been raining for the past few days now, gentle summer showers shifting into summer storms without warning. This is the type of rain that beats harshly against the windows and roofs, the sound of summer war drums beating to a discordant rhythm. Thunder rumbles on the occasion, throaty like bestial growls, and lightning shatters the storm cloud darkened skies. Noctis imagines this would be the way Ramuh would pass judgment.

It’s been raining for the past few days now, raining since Prompto came and left out of Noctis’s life for what felt like the final time. It’s befitting that one of the worst moments in his life is bracketed by weather so torrential as if Insomnia is attuned to his final moods. On the occasion, he hopes, rather morbidly, that the rain lets up before he dies. This is the type of weather that makes old wounds ache, after all, the scars on his back make their presence known, a dull and throbbing reminder that he’s lucky to have even made it this far in life.  

His body is always in pain these days, different than it was before due to the increasing ache in his chest as a constant reminder that he doesn’t have much time left, all things considered. Different than the ache of his bones that reminded him constantly that he would one day have the Crystal slowly siphon his life like his father and the kings before him. Such is the fate of the line of Caelum.

Either way, it’s slow. Either way, it’s painful. Either way, Noctis wishes things were a bit different, wishes that he could have given Prompto a proper goodbye, one that he deserved more than anything.

He had told Ignis about how the conversation went, about their nearly fight and how Prompto left with a smile so empty that the image of it has burned itself behind Noctis’s eyelids. Ignis had looked sad for a moment, he’s always looking a bit sadder these days, more serious, not that Noctis can blame him for it, and told him that he can try again in a few days’ time if he would like. Give Prompto a few days to get his emotions in order and give Noctis a few days to thoroughly think about how he’s going to relay the news. Ignis had offered to be there for moral support, but Noctis thinks this is something he should do for himself since he’s the one that messed it up in the first place.

So, Noctis waits a few days, spends them ignoring the ache in his chest that grows worse each night and all the flowers he coughs up. Though he keeps one by his bedside, watches as it doesn’t wilt no matter how many days have passed. Must be his magic keeping it alive for however long he has left. Noctis doesn’t think he has very long left anyway.

When that realization hits, harder than it ever has before, he thinks, he needs to finally say goodbye to Prompto properly. He doesn’t want their final memory together to be their first almost fight. Noctis doesn’t want Prompto’s last memory of him to be a friend that possibly stopped caring about him towards the end because Noctis doesn’t think he can ever stop caring about Prompto. He doesn’t think he can ever stop loving Prompto either. Noctis doesn’t want his last memory of Prompto to be the fraying sound of his voice and the sad hunch of his shoulders when he left the apartment.

He doesn’t want a final memory sadder than it has to be, than it should be. He’d accept a bittersweet ending because there’s no easy way to tell someone you love that you’re dying and that all you’re doing now is waiting for inevitable.

He’ll find a way to make it hurt less, but it won’t be easy.

“Can you drive me to Prompto’s?” Noctis ends up asking Ignis one night, mind made up about what he’s going to do.

Ignis looks confused at the question, then he looks a little tired, probably because it’s eleven and he’s spent most of his day making sure Noctis is okay as he’ll ever be at this point, and now he’s reading some papers for whatever reason. “It’s late, Noct. Prompto may be sleeping, as you should be.”

“He might not be, and I’m not tired.” A rare thing for Noctis to say, but he aches too much these days to sleep like he used to, relying on irregular naps to get through the day without passing out from exhaustion.

“That doesn’t change the fact that it’s late, Highness. It’d be rude to show up at his doorstep now.”

Noctis doesn’t think Prompto would really mind what time it is unless he has to get up earlier than normal. They’ve snuck out together at later times than this, after all, and on school nights no less. This, of course, is something he doesn’t bother telling Ignis. Some secrets are better left taken to the grave.

“It won’t take long.” He urges anyway, voice a borderline plea. “I’ll be in and out.”

“How about this,” Ignis sighs, sounding very much like he’d rather be sleeping right now, “we go as soon as you wake up in the morning. If Prompto happens to not be at his apartment during that time, we’ll check his job as well. How does that sound?”

It sounds terrible, really it does, but Noctis understands Ignis’s want to compromise because old habits die hard. If this was any other time, however, Noctis wouldn’t mind that answer. But this is different, and things have been different for a while now. Because Noctis is playing the waiting game at this point, and he might not even have a tomorrow to consider. He doesn’t tell any of this to Ignis though since it feels too much like guilting him, and that’s the last thing Noctis wants to do when Ignis has already sacrificed so much in his life.

It’s fine though because Noctis didn’t come out here without a backup plan, stubborn as he is, he always finds a way around things if he feels up to it.

 

-

 

Noctis doesn’t think he has a tomorrow, so he sneaks out of his apartment with an ease that speaks of years of practice, leaving a note where Ignis should be able to find it whenever he wakes up.

Noctis doesn’t think he has a tomorrow, so he boards the subway and takes the three different lines needed just to make it across Insomnia to where Prompto lives.

Noctis doesn’t think he has a tomorrow, so the least he can do is walk through a bit of rain since he forgot his umbrella.

All of this is the least he can do, really. Prompto deserves it.

 

-

 

“Noct, what the hell?” Is the is the first thing Prompto says when he opens his door and finds Noctis standing there.

He looks surprised in a sleep-rumpled sort of way, a bat hanging loosely from his hands like he was going to use it. Then again, Noctis doesn’t blame him. It’s late, and no one expects anyone to knock on their door at any hour past midnight. It makes Noctis feel bad for causing that minor alarm in his friend. At least Prompto bothered to check the door though because Noctis was worried that he wouldn’t have even gotten an answer.

“Sorry, were you sleeping?”

Prompto scoffs and ushers Noctis inside, closing and locking the door behind him. “Of course I was sleeping, dude, it’s two in the morning. You shouldn’t be out in the rain Noct, you’re still sick.”

“Can’t get any worse than I already am.” Noctis mutters, and to Prompto’s raised eyebrow, he shrugs.

“Grab a towel from the bathroom. I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

Noctis complies because he’s cold and doesn’t want to keep dripping water on his friend’s floor. He knows the layout of Prompto’s place as well as his own. The smaller size of it allows for easier navigation and a homier feel, more personal in the fact that Prompto’s things are scattered around, an organized chaos. Noctis likes coming here whenever he can, more so than his own apartment at times.

Prompto gives him a bundle of dry clothes, the act of borrowing not foreign to them, being around the same size as they are. Noctis dries himself of rainwater and changes into a pair of sweatpants and a red hoodie worn from wear but undeniably warm and undeniably Prompto’s. Noctis has to take a few cursory breaths, feels a slight ache in his throat and ever-present ache in his chest. He smells the perfume of flowers on his breath but doesn’t feel the telltale scratch of an oncoming bought of coughing, so he deems it safe enough to be around Prompto for now.

Noctis finds Prompto in his room, back leaning against the wall and phone in hand. Noctis takes the time to allow his eyes to roam the space, having been a few months since he’s last been here. The walls are still covered with magazine clippings and posters and pictures, though the photographs have seemed to have multiplied in number. Not surprising, all things considered. His eyes catch on a photo placed right above the bed, one of the many selfies of the two of them, arms slung around each other’s shoulders and cheeks pressed together. Behind them is the night sky and the glowing lights of Insomnia. It is then that Noctis realizes this is the photo Prompto took the night of the meteor shower, the night where all of this began. It is the last picture they’ve taken together. It might be the last picture they’ll ever take together.

“Does Iggy know you’re here?” Prompto’s voice cuts through his thoughts, tone conversationally light as he pats the empty space next to him.

“I snuck out,” answers Noctis, climbing into that empty space, close enough that their arms will brush if they move them, but only that. “but I left a note for him.”

“Better to ask forgiveness than permission I guess.” Prompto places his phone down, the bed sinking and springs squeaking as he moves around until he’s facing Noctis, legs crossed and eyes expectant. “So, what’s got you here so late?”

Noctis doesn’t say anything at first, words caught in his throat because he’s not a boy made for words, but sometimes they’re necessary. They’re necessary now, and Prompto deserves to hear them at the very least.

“Sorry about the other day,” he starts, turning his body so he and Prompto are facing each other. “I didn’t…everything just came out wrong.”

Prompto blinks, violet-blue eyes wide with surprise before he laughs, shrugging slightly before he says, “Oh, that’s all? It’s no big deal. You obviously weren’t in the mood, and I kept pushing.”

Noctis shakes his head, a denial of the immediate forgiveness he doesn’t deserve. “You were worried, Prom. Of course you wanted to know what was wrong. I’m not blaming you for that. I could have handled it better.”

There isn’t an answer for a long stretch of seconds, Prompto avoiding eye contact by looking down at his hands. Noctis is willing to wait for as long as he has to, and it ends up being a few more seconds before Prompto finally speaks, his voice soft and a little frayed at the edges. “I thought you got bored of me, y’know? Or, like, you realized how annoying I was with all those texts and that I wasn’t really worth the time.”

 _Oh,_ Noctis feels like the worst kind of person, the cruelest friend. He knows Prompto, to some extent, deals with issues of self-worth; the more than occasional self-deprecating comment has passed Prompto’s own lips enough times that they'll even rub Noctis the wrong way. Of course the unforeseen distance in their relationship would come across negatively. Their almost fight probably didn’t help matters with the words Noctis had said.

He reaches out tentatively, fingers lightly brushing the curve of Prompto’s knuckles, a near absent minded comfort, for who, he isn’t really sure. “Sorry,” he starts and has to restart, feels emotions rising deep in his chest, constricting his heart. “you’re my best friend, Prom. I never wanted you to feel like that.”

“It hurt a lot,” Prompto admits, his voice cracking against the final word. A rare moment of admission and vulnerability from him, from them both really.

“You don’t have to forgive me if you don’t want to.” He moves his fingers between the space of Prompto’s own, glad at how easily they slot together.

Prompto sniffs, and Noctis raises his head just in time to see Prompto’s palm wiping at his eyes, respectfully not saying anything because he feels close to tears himself. Sympathy crying, or maybe it’s because he has a lot to say and not a lot of time to spend after he says it.

“I can’t stay mad at you.” Prompto admits, a small and crooked smile on his face. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up with you though? If you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

“You deserve an explanation.” Noctis replies, feeling his heart slowly picking up speed from the nerves of it all. “It’s just, things have been hard lately, and you’re actually getting stuff done with your life. I didn’t want to mess that up.”

“Noct, I’m gonna be able to make time for you if you need it. Like, I appreciate the consideration, but if you’re going through something and need help, you can ask.”

“It’s not something you can really help with though. Me being _this_ sick.”

“How sick are you?” Prompto asks, slight worry tinging his voice as his grip on Noctis’s hand tightens.

Noctis exhales because that’s the question, isn’t it? The whole reason why he’s here, to tell Prompto what’s really going on. “Enough that I’m dying.”

There’s a silence that stretches between them once more, the air suddenly heavy with Prompto’s disbelief. The only sound for a while is the steady rhythm of rain against the roof and window. Prompto looks like he wants to say something, mouth opening and closing a few times.

“What?” Is the word he finally settles on, his voice a harsh whisper.

“I’m dying.” Noctis repeats. This is the first time he’s admitted it out loud to anyone, to himself. It makes it all the more real, even more inevitable, speaking the words into existence like this.

“Bullshit. You have the best doctors in all of Lucis, and they can’t fix whatever’s wrong with you?”

Noctis shakes his head, knew that Prompto would act like this. So much denial in his voice, emotional as he is, it isn’t a surprise. Knowing doesn’t make telling him hurt any less, doesn’t make him not still wish things could be different. It’d be so much easier if things were different.

“It’s old magic, from the Crystal.” Noctis says, tone soothing as he can make it because Prompto needs the consolation more than he does. Noctis has already made his peace. Prompto needs help getting there. “There probably is a cure, but not one that doctors can make happen.”

“You still haven’t told me what’s wrong. Besides, y’know,” _dying_ he doesn’t want to say, Noctis understands that, “but not what caused it?”

“It causes flowers to grow in my lungs, and I cough up petals and sometimes flowers. It makes it hard to breathe most days.”

He doesn’t say that he will suffocate, watching the shock on Prompto’s face morph into unveiled grief is enough to let him know that he doesn’t have to. Prompto’s smart, he can put two and two together.

“It’s a little funny,” Noctis finds himself saying even though he had no original plans to say anything about this. “that these flowers are my feelings of one-sided love for a person.” In this case, it’s not too funny, but Noctis is sure this would all seem a little ridiculous if he wasn’t dying from it.

“What do you mean one-sided?” Prompto exclaims, sounding offended for some reason, and Noctis suddenly wonders if he’s been found out, that his affections are truly known. “Who wouldn’t fall in love with you, Noct? Is it Lady Lunafreya? I know she lives far away, so a relationship with her would be hard, but I’m sure if you let her know.”

Prompto is so earnest in words, so insistent on the fact that it could be Luna, that Noctis can’t help but laugh. It feels more than a little ridiculous after having such a somber air around the room, but laughing after so long feels nice, feels free.

“First of all,” Noctis starts once his laughter finally settles, having to fight back another bought at the slightly offended look on Prompto’s face, “Luna is honestly more like a sister to me, so we’re good on that front. Second of all, before you go on listing any more girls we may mutually know, I’m very gay.”  

“Huh,” Prompto exhales, understanding in his expression like he’s finally gotten the answers to some questions, and maybe he has. It wasn’t as if Noctis was actively hiding it though, but it also wasn’t like he’d explicitly came out to anyone besides Ignis, Gladio, and his dad, in that order. “no wonder you never seemed interested when the girls in high school flocked around you.”

Noctis can’t help it, the fact that he rolls his eyes, and feels incredibly fond of Prompto all over again. “Yeah, that sure does explain it.”

“Okay,” Prompto hums and for a moment it can feel like a game they’re both playing. Figuring out Noctis’s crush and ignore the fact that it’s the love that’s killing him so slowly, tenderly, painfully. “is it, Iggy? I can see why if it is, he’s pretty great, and can do so much stuff.”

A shock of laughter despite himself. “No, try again.”

“Gladio?”

“Absolutely not. No offense to Gladio.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Prompto huffs, apparently stumped by the mystery of this and tries again.

Noctis lets it go on for a few more names, each one getting more unbelievable than the last, each one further from the truth. It’s interesting to see, however, how Prompto doesn’t even once consider himself, like he isn’t worthy of even the possibility of Noctis’s affection, of his love. It makes his heart break, seeing how little his friend thinks of himself.

“It’s you.” Noctis blurts between a moment of thought, knowing that Prompto would give another name that isn’t his own. When he gets a look of confusion and uncertainty in return, Noctis holds their gazes and says clearly what he’s been holding onto for so long. “I’m in love with you.”

Prompto looks like he doesn’t quite believe it still, and when he makes to say something, Noctis tightens the grip on their still held hands and shakes his head. That movement is enough for Prompto to stop whatever he was going to say, gaze expectant and heavy.

“I’m not, I’m not good at talking.” Noctis admits, a fact that Prompto knows as well as anyone else. “But I’ll try, okay? For you. If you’d let me try to explain myself. It might come out – it might come out not making much sense, but I want to try.”

Prompto nods, a bit stilted in its movement, but Noctis takes it as a good enough sign as any.

He ignores the frantic beating of his heart and the ache in his chest and speaks. “I love you. I think, I _know_ , I’ve loved you for a while now. Before all this started. I don’t really even care about the flowers and what’s happening to me because it’s not something I can help. But please, please, believe me, I’m not telling you any of this to guilt you or, or force you to love me. If you don’t like me the way I like you then that’s okay. I promise it’s more than okay. Prom, you have so much potential in your life, and I don’t want to be the one to stop that. That’s why I didn’t tell you because it would’ve just dragged you down. And you deserve more than that.”

The words stop there, everything he can articulate has been said, though without the grace befitting a prince but rather of a boy confessing his first love. That’s what he wants to be in this moment, when he dies from this, a boy so in love with his best friend that it killed him in the end. A bittersweet tale if there ever was one.

Noctis wants to look away, wants to avoid the look in Prompto’s eyes, unsure what to expect. So, he does, trains his gaze on their intertwined fingers, marveling at how Prompto hasn’t let go all this time. It’s a little dizzying to think about with all these other emotions swarming around his head.

He only feels a little disappointment when Prompto removes his hand, disappointment turning to shock when he feels the gentle touch of a palm against the side of his face, just enough to get him to look up, forcing their gazes to hold once more.

“Idiot,” Prompto says, soft and quiet, no heat behind his words, not a real insult then.

Noctis feels himself getting pulled into an embrace, arms wrapped around his shoulders, their foreheads pressed together. They’ve been closer than this, on many occasions, but something about this feels much more intimate, much more surreal.

“Thank you for wanting to look out for me, but Noct, I wish you told me sooner. I would have been there. “

“All I’ve been doing is waiting for the inevitable. You don’t deserve to see that.”

“You can’t make that call for other people.” Prompto sighs, moving until Noctis feels the soft brush of lips against his hairline. “How’d you even convince yourself that I’d never love you?”

“Because you get involved with me, there’s no easy way in or out.” As a friend, it’s okay, easier to mitigate any damage caused by headlines. Dating though? Prompto’s a private person, and Noctis doesn’t want to ruin any semblance of life and balance he’s built up over the years.

“Let’s ignore that okay, because I actually don’t care.” Prompto says, pushing back enough so that they can look each other in the eyes again. There’s something near indescribable in Prompto’s gaze, something soft and tender and so, so sincere, the smile on his face is crooked and lovely. “I’m actually nervous, but I love you too, Noct.”

It’s Noctis’s turn to be stunned into silence, words he’d never thought he’d hear spoken. He feels giddy with disbelief though, feels a smile forcing his mouth to curl.

“Really?”

Prompto nods, earnest as he is with everything else. “Yeah, for like, years now I think. I’d never thought, you know, that you’d ever feel the same because you’re way out of my league.”

“You’re good enough for me.” Noctis insists, pleased to see a high flush of pink spread across Prompto’s cheeks. “More than good enough, really.”

Noctis wonders how much love a person can have for another and how much love their heart can take in return. There’s so many unspoken words in their gazes, so many words he wants to say but knows he’ll never give them any justice. So really, it’s not a surprise when he relies on actions, leaning forward until their lips brush, Prompto understanding and meeting him halfway.

So, they kiss, and it’s wonderful like this: the closeness of it, the intimacy of it, Prompto with a hand on Noctis’s waist and Noctis with a hand resting on Prompto’s cheek. The warmth of it replaces the ache in his chest and bones, the warmth of a love realized and returned. Maybe they kiss for seconds or maybe they kiss for hours, time seems to fall apart, either way, leaving them the only two people left in the world.

When they break apart, it’s just barely. Their foreheads pressed together, breathy laughter escaping gently from kiss flushed mouths.

“That was nice.” Prompto practically whispers. “Wanna go again?”

“Practice makes perfect.” Noctis answers though the kiss was pretty perfect to begin with.

It’s enough though because they come together and kiss once more and twice more and thrice more. It’s easy to forget everything like this, so wrapped up in each other, so buoyed by love that they lose track of everything else.

Nothing has ever felt so right than in this moment, and Noctis will gladly die with this memory.

 

-

 

Noctis wakes up to the feeling of fingers slowly threading through his hair, unsurprised and a little more in love to see Prompto hovering over him with a smile on his face.

“Morning.” He tries to say, though he’s sure it comes out muffled and half unintelligible due to his face being smooshed into a pillow.

“Afternoon actually.” Prompto leans down to brush a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Iggy came by earlier, left you a toothbrush and a change of clothes. Said you had an appointment today.”

Noctis nods through a stretch and a yawn. Not trying to think about how this is probably the last appointment he’ll have seeing as though the one before revealed that his lungs were mostly entirely compromised. He doesn’t tell this to Prompto though, not wanting to ruin their small moments together by reminding him that it won’t last long.

While he’s getting ready, Noctis first notices that the rains have finally stopped. When he’s pulling back on the hoodie he borrowed and slept in last night, he then notices that his chest doesn’t ache for the first time in days and hasn’t all morning.  

It seems like a good sign.

He hopes it’s a good sign.

 

-

 

The doctor shows Noctis his x-rays after it’s all been done. Voice filled with awe as they tell him that the spread has receded by over half and will hopefully continue to recede until it’s gone. It’s a miracle they say, joyous that their prince will not die. 

He tells Prompto as soon as he can. That is after he deals with a rightfully emotional and tearful hug from his father and relaying the news via text to Ignis and Gladio seeing as though Ignis has classes and Gladio is training.

Prompto hoists him clear off his feet in his excitement when he hears, lifting by Noctis by his thighs. He didn’t know Prompto was this strong, but he’d be a fool to complain about it.

“Prom, dude!” He laughs, hands resting on Prompto’s shoulders so he doesn’t risk falling over, but he trusts Prompto enough to catch him, to not let him fall.

“Sorry,” Prompto laughs but doesn’t seem sorry at all. Though he lets Noctis return to the ground in increments until they can rest their foreheads together. “Can you blame for being happy?”

“No, no I can’t.” Noctis agrees, trying to fit their lips together, but they’re both smiling too much to really kiss, so he just rests his head against Prompto’s shoulder.

And well, if he cries a little, so, so relieved that he’ll live for a while yet, relieved that he can flourish along with this love of his, then only he and Prompto need to know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "here is the deepest secret nobody knows  
> (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
> and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows  
> higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)  
> and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart  
> 
> 
> i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)"
> 
>  **I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)**  
>  ― E.E. Cummings


End file.
